


A is for...

by Duckgomery



Category: Metalocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:36:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckgomery/pseuds/Duckgomery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles to one-shots revolving around the life and times of Dethklok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apple

**Author's Note:**

> Um, yeah. Fist time writing for the fandom. Kind of an exercise to get me back on my feet really. Yeah. Enjoy?

' _You can always eat an apple_ '

 

Since it's first utterance, Pickles had been to rehab and back, and while he was definitely back on the booze, it didn't mean that those words hadn't latched on.

 

'Dude, what're you doing?' When Nathan had wondered out to the lounge at three, or was it four, in the morning, he hadn't been expecting anyone else, least of all Pickles.

'What does it look like I'm doin'?' Pickles giggled around his slurred and rounded words, face slow-casing the tell tale red that told Nathan that Pickles was well and truly drunk. Though a quick look around at the piles and remnants of various liquor bottles would have also given that information.

'Looks like you're drinking.' Nathan stood in the middle of the room in his dressing gown, not to sure were to go from here. His initial plan of action had been to just channel surf and see what happened seeing as he couldn't get to sleep, but now he was at a loss.

'Looks is correct. What're you doing?'

'Dunno. Couldn't sleep.'

Eventually sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Pickles, Nathan allowed the silence to wash over them, punctuated only on occasion by the snort and giggles from Pickles and the ever present din that Mordhaus always rang.

'Hey, Nate?'

'What, Pickles?' It was early, and Nathan had not had enough sleep to deal with any of Pickles drunken antics.

'You can always eat an apple.' Pickles body shook as he tried not to laugh, holding out one of the bottles of cider he had within easy reach.

Nathan cracked a grin at the offered bottle before taking it in hand and twisting the lid off with a crisp hiss.


	2. B is for Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoever said 'you say it best when you say nothing at all' was a major dildo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I intended to get this done sooner, but yeah. Yeah.  
> Accents are hard to write, so any feedback regarding me butchering them would be greatly appreciated.

 'Good job, Toki. Like, wow. Murderface could fail to record your part and we'll still use it because it sounds better.' Nathan grumbles through the talk back mic. Toki, feet shoulder width apart, stiffens his shoulders and his bottom lip.

'Gives me ones more shot. I cans do it.'

'Pffft, don'ts go crying like littles dildos baby when you can't because yous has de sloppy fingers.' Skwisgaar taunts from his safe position on the couch, fingers skimming across the neck of his ever present Gibson.

'Alright. One more. Three, two, one, go!'

Toki did it in two.

 

Though some would find it weird, Toki didn't mind receiving criticism. In fact, you could almost say he loved it. Not fast enough. Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not brutal enough. What the others intended as put downs, Toki took.

 

The family reunion was the worst. Since the others were occupied with their own personal versions of hell, Toki was stuck in his. Silent, and ever watching.

 

'Hey, Toki. You takin' a nap?' Pickles slurs from the hot tub, words drawn out further in his state of intoxication only marked by the growing graveyard of bottles piling up around his end.

'Nosch. Hesch been weird schince hisch parentsch schowed up. Like hesch scho schpecial.'

'Toki. Stop being weird and get over here. We're going to drink it all away.'

'Drink I' all away!' His glass raised over enthusiastically, Pickles isn't aware of the loss of a decent portion of whatever cocktail he was currently working through.

Moving almost robotically, Toki steps into the bubbling water, grabbing the nearest bottle that smells like paint thinner, and ignoring any jabs or protests about how he's still fully dressed.

 

Even after so many years, it was hard to tell exactly what was being said with only eye contact. Did he take to long? Didn't he gather enough? Were the pieces cut too sloppily? All he could read from the dead, mud coloured eyes was that he'd done something bad.

 

'Noes, noes, noes! Stop!' Skwisgaar yelled, halting practice yet again before storming over to Toki.

'Is it so hard for yous to understanding that yous follows mine lead? No skippings arounds with yours hippotonuse sounds like the cows ins the plates place. Yous the rhythm. Is the leads. Follows, you dumb dildo.'

It seemed that with every rehearsal it always had to get to that point before any progress was made.

 

The best part about being told exactly what he was doing wrong was that changes could be made. He wasn't kept guessing, down in the cold, through the night so he'd know what to do or not to do the next time.

 

'How was that, Skwisgaar?' Nathan turns from his seat by the control board, looking back to the Swede.

'Ams not entirely dildos. No needs to rerecords.'

'Alright, Toki. Your done. Murderface, get your arse in the booth.'

Stepping over Skwisgaar's extended legs, Toki takes a seat on the couch. Slowly flexing his cramped up hands, he comes to the realisation that though criticism is pretty good, praise, in any and all it's forms, is better.


	3. C is for Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmmm, just like the way Mum used to make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So borderline fluffy I gave myself borderline cavities.  
> This whole thing stemmed from a silly head cannon of mine that one, Skwisgaar would've most likely have been left to fend for himself once Serveta deemed him old enough, including a majority of meals, and two, even as a kid he was really prideful and would've taken any oppurtunity to show off, even if it meant giving his mom credit when it wasn't exactly due because wow, look at me, I can make all sorts of things that even my classmates moms' can't.  
> And Toki would probably be apart because reasons.

 ' _Pass the butter_.' The kitchen is void of any movement except that of the two guitarists. Toki, legs swinging in a manner that's leaving scuff marks on the counter's cupboard passes the yellow block over the the blonde standing over the mixing bowl.

Skwisgaar, with all the precision of a surgeon, slices the block into smaller, more manageable bits. Satisfied with the dicing, he opens the still pre-heating oven and places the bowl inside. Hovering close to keep an eye on the bowls contents, Skwisgaar can tell by the light yet clumsy footsteps that Toki's heard his unspoken order to go and retrieve the rest of the ingredients. The last time Toki was trusted in softening the butter resulted in three burnt hands and an excuse that only drunk idiots would've bought. Luckily for Skwisgaar, and Toki, the other three were drunken idiots at the time of the accident.

…

 

Not to say he was against education, but Skwisgaar's favourite part about school was lunch. While his classmates would pull out sloppy, slapped together lunches, Skwisgaar was never without something that was impressive just to look at. He thrived off the other kids hungry and envious looks whenever he pulled out little cakes or a neatly arranged open sandwich.

 

…

 

' _Alright, Toki. Only half a cup of sugar'_

_'But-'_

_'No. The recipe says that we only need half a cup so,'_

_'We only use half a cup._ ' Toki's tone could even tell anyone who couldn't understand either of them that the line he was reciting was one he'd spoken time and time again. Still, somethings had to be emphasized for the greater good. Not to mention that a certain someone was supposed to be careful with their sugar levels.

 

…

 

_'Again! Wow, Skwisgaar. I can't believe your Mor always makes you this stuff. Wish mine loved me enough to cook this good._ ' One of Skwisgaar's ever present vultures complained as he reached over and helped himself to one of the gem-like rosenmunnars from the container Skwisgaar had pulled out.

 

…

 

Kneading the dough together with long, practiced fingers, Skwisgaar silently focused on the task at hand. Buzzing with impatience, Toki kept on craning himself to attempt to look over the taller man's shoulder as subtly as he could. Deciding that he'd “finally” take the hint, Skwisgaar moved himself to the side slightly to that Toki could watch un-obscured, much to the younger man's delight.

_'Wash your hands and bring the trays over.'_ Was all the announcing Skwisgaar had to make to set Toki into action. While the trays clattered that bit too loud in the way that always seems to happen in the early hours of the morning, the two Scandinavians were well aware that it would take more than that to draw any attention to their current activity. This was Mordhaus after all.

Hands clean and trays at the ready, the two men start pinching off sections of the dough and rolling it into small balls which were placed on the trays. Every time one was placed down, they'd indent the centre with their thumb and drop a dollop of jam into it. Lingon berry for Toki and Mixed berries for Skwisgaar.

While Skwisgaar's looked like something straight from a cook book, perfect in shape and presentation, even at this stage, Toki's had much to be desired. Un-even thickness, broken edges, and a mix of too little and too much jam strewn across trays. It really didn't matter to either whether or not finesse of enthusiasm yielded the better biscuit, both knew that they'd split the goods fifty fifty regardless.

 

…

 

Coming home to an empty house, Skwisgaar went about preparations. Pulling one of the chairs from the table over into the kitchen, the blonde boy climbed up to reach one of the cupboards. Pulling a few of the books down, Skwisgaar flicked through the pages until he found something new that worked with the sparse ingredients held within the cabinets and fridge. If he started prepping now he'd probably have time to run down to the shops and get stuff for dinner as well. First step though was repositioning the chair so that he could reach the dial on the oven.

 

…

 

Skwisgaar looked down at the timer displayed on his dethphone and thought better than to chastise Toki for standing in-front of the oven and watching the biscuits inside like a hawk. The smell that now filled the kitchen was how Skwisgaar always thought a proper kitchen could smell like, but was secretly glad that all traces of this activity would be gone by the time Jean Pierre rocked up.

When the phone did start to buzz, Skwisgaar stepped back into action before Toki would attempt to retrieve them himself, pulling on one of the metal but not actually metal oven mitts that hung near the oven, and pulling tray after tray out of the heat.

Skwisgaar still can't exactly remember when Toki became part of this ritual, if the other man was invited to take part or barged his way in. It didn't really matter seeing as everyone was entitled to eating food with feeling put into it, whether made my one's mother or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosenmunnars, or Swedish Thumbprint Biscuits, are my favourite thing to make right now and are super easy and yum.  
> This is the recipe I use and yeah, doesn't disappoint.  
> http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Rosenmunnar/Detail.aspx?evt19=1


End file.
